Coffee And Cigarettes, And Coffee, and coffee, and coffee... AKA The Journey
Hello once more! As expected, I am poor at this blogging thing. There is so much to be doing and so little time to be writing. I can't remember what I said in the last entry, and I'm not online now so I can't check. I guess I should describe my trip from the beginning.
Sunday, october 16th, after saying goodbye to everyone and everything in Canada and all that hard stuff, I flew from the Halifax Airport to London's Gatwick South airport. The flight left at 1am, monday morning. Oddly enough, James and Jennifer were returning from Toronto at 12:30am the same night! So I saw them in the airport briefly to say our goodbyes before I crossed the pond. Strange. The plan was to sleep during the flight, but alas that was not to be. I sat next to a chatty British lad, Martin (Mar-tin), who was visiting a friend of his in Halifax. He works in a hotel in London, I never saw him again. But that reminds me of a small tangential story; in the airport I sat next to a charming couple from Wales who were talking of their stay in Nova Scotia, and telling me what I should see in the old country. And a phrase kept coming up that I didn't bother to ask for an explanation, they said that things were "very deary" in Cardiff. Odd. And the chatty British lad on the plane also said something about things being "dear" in London. This time I asked him about it, and apparently the Brits use "dear" to mean expensive. He'd never heard "deary" used but assumed it was just another of those crazy Welsh things. Okay, back to the flight. I have no idea what movie was playing, as I was trying desperately to sleep. After only two hours of neck-cramping airplane sleep the stewardess woke me up to serve me breakfast. Let me repeat that, the stewardess WOKE ME UP to give me breakfast. Isn't that, like, lesson one in the service industry? "Don't wake up the patron at 4am to feed him airplane food, unless it comes with a blow job." Okay, except for the last part. Wow, that was rude. And straight after a breakfast of tofu and some unidentifiable, vegetable-tasting goo, they gave me some strong coffee. This made sure that I stayed awake for the remaining three hours of the flight. Now, some might ask, "Why the hell did you drink coffee if you wanted to get back to sleep?" Well, I was afraid of an alien bursting from my stomach after gestating in the vegetable goo, and I wanted to be awake for that! No, um, there's really no good explanation. It was coffee, it was offered, I almost always accept offered coffee. This is a bad habit, and one that gets worse once I start staying with my father. More on that in a bit.
Arrive in London unscathed at 10:30am. Wait at the wrong luggage deployment conveyer belt thing for over half an hour, watching as dozens of other people collect bags that obviously belong to them. Another guy from the flight is standing nearby (I recognized him from when I walked past his seat in first class because he was wearing these funky anime boots), also with a face barely concealing panic. After asking someone at the desk for another airline than we flew who was not helpful at all, we asked a security guard and figured things out. Gatwick was under construction, which blocked out view of where we were supposed to be. After retrieving out luggage we part ways feeling a little silly, me less so on account of the boots, I'm sure.
Clearing customs was interesting because I couldn't answer any of their questions. Travelling without an agenda, this is going to be a common problem. Suggestions are welcome. Comment theme! If anyone has any interesting or funny border guard stories they feel like sharing, please post!
"How long are you staying in the UK?"
"Overnight, I catch a flight to Oslo tomorrow."
"Where do you leave from?"
"Uh...." Rummage, rummage, rummage. "Here's my ticket."
"Okay, where are you staying tonight?"
"I don't know, I guess I'll book a hostel room or something."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I don't know... Use a phone book...?"
Icy stare. I guess they don't like sarcasm.
Gulp.
And then he surprised me with the helpful suggestion of going to this booth on the other side of the airport specializing in hotel bookings. I hate border guards. They have all the power, and no sense of humor. Anyway, I followed his advice and book a room in a relatively cheap place, not that I knew how much money I was spending. I just gave the lady my credit card. Which reminds me, that stopped working in Oslo. I think I have to call the bank soon.
Dragging my two heavy bags around Gatwick airport was pretty tiring. I was in need of a coffee and a biscuit at this point, so I sat in a little cafe thing in the airport and ordered a cappuccino and some focaccia sandwich thing that probably cost as much as my hotel room. I need to learn to stop buying stuff in airports. At the table I sat, a really unfriendly British woman joined me. She sort of glared at me and my two suitcases on a cart, then silently ate and SMS'ed people on her cell phone. I like cell phones less and less the more I see people use them.
After coffee I take the tube to the hotel area and start walking, dragging two suitcases on wheels awkwardly behind me. Every few steps I would lodge my foot between suitcase and pavement and either I would stumble, or the suitcase would turn around and start dragging, requiring me to stop and compose myself for the next few steps. I was sweaty and gross. I must have looked quite a mess. I also started by going to wrong way, and having to turn around once I got my bearings. There were two identical parks on either end of the street I was on. Once I started stumbling in the correct direction a woman from behind asked if I needed any assistance. After refusing her help, she walked by, and I immediately regretted it. Some assistance would be nice. Then she turned around and asked if I was sure. She seemed nice, not like someone who would run off with my shit, so I accepted her help. It turned out great! Not only did she get me to my hotel, but she helped me up the three flights of stairs and then invited me out to dinner. Her name is Chen, and she's a life saver. Of course I showered first, and MAN did that feel good. Cleanliness is godliness. Afterwards, Chen showed me around China-town, we ate some delicious boiled eel with rice dish, and we drank a pint at an English pub. I felt so international at that point, like my trip had really begun.
Oh yes, the bags! The other half of this story so far is that my luggage was WAY overweight in the Halifax airport. Zoom lets you have 20kg underneath, and for some strange reason I packed over 40kg. Those that have helped me move know this story. I ended up having to pay an extra $110CAN for the bags to London. I checked my tickets and the next flight only allowed 15kg, and the price per kg overweight was about double, so I decided to mail my bags from London to Dad's place in Fauske. What a hassle that turned out to be! In the hotel I repacked my two suitcases such that all the heavy stuff was in one, and I would bring light stuff with me on the plane. I was really tired when i did this and apparently socks and underwear weigh more than shoes. It was a lot of head-smacking when I unpacked in Fauske later. Anyway, the eventual mailing of the bag was easy, once I decided on a postal service. The UK postal service is great, by the way. The tracking information is terribly accurate. They know what they're doing with mail here, at least.
Back to the hotel. Automated wake-up for 8am. Luckily I also set a travel clock because the phone ring wouldn't have woke me up. Stupid hotel phone. 5 hours sleep, nice. Run to the post office, mail bag, run back to hotel, pick up things and check out, run to train, grab a banana and an apple at a fruit stand on the way, 2 hours on a train, an old lady I talk to from Scotland uses "dear" to mean expensive, Stansted airport, 3 hour wait, 3 hour flight to Oslo, well south of Oslo. Ryan Air, the most inexpensive airline ever. That flight cost me $30CAN!!!! Although they only land in small airstrips that aren't convenient to get to, you actually have to walk outside to get to the plane on the tarmac. Deplaning south of Oslo was the first time I could see my breath. "Well, I'm in Norway now." Met Pedro on the tarmac, very funny guy. 2 hour bus ride with him after clearing customs. Customs was exciting, sort of. The guy asking the questions actually had a sense of humor! I thought they weren't allowed to have a sense of humor. I'm definitely in Norway now...
"Hviden har du det?"
"Um, I don't speak Norwegian, sorry."
"Oh, okay. How long are you planning to stay in Norway?"
"Perhaps four months?"
"Uh oh."
"Wha-what?"
"Well, I have to kick you out now..."
"Wha-what?"
Laughs. "You're only allowed to stay here three months out of six. Or they won't let you back into the Scandinavian countries for two years."
He thought he was pretty funny. I nearly wet myself.
2 hour bus ride to Oslo with Pedro! He's an extremely joyous person from Barcelona. We talked and laughed our way to Oslo. He's on his way to a Liza Minelli concert the next day. The man has an obsession. Apparently he also has a meeting with her, or her people, or something to try and get her to play in Barcelona. Also, he's going to NYC later to see her 60th birthday concert. Apparently the man follows her all over the world. He told me this story of how he was with some friends in South Africa, they were doing some shooting, and he ended up with a bullet in his bag. This was later found by a customs agent, and he was questioned pretty thoroughly. Somehow that evolved into us joking about him shooting Liza Minelli. A very strange man with a very strange sense of humor. I liked him immediately. "I'm going to SHOOT LIZA MINELLI!" We parted ways in the bus station, me for yet another bus, he for beers with friends at a birthday party. Cheers Pedro. May we meet in Barcelona. ... To shoot Liza Minelli!
Much waiting in the airport. Having not yet learned my airport food lesson, I ate a 280 kroner hamburger and fries. I think that was expensive, but DAMN it was yummy. 1.5 hour flight to Bodø, Dad meets me at the airport. Strange moment as I recognized him 5 seconds before he knew who I was. Big hug. Hour car drive to his and Grethe's home. We drank gas station coffee. When we got there no one was awake. He showed me around and I went to bed. Ah, sleep in a bed. Even a too-short bed with a too-small blanket.
Okay, that was far too detailed, me thinks. It was an eventful and traumatic trip though. Don't forget, comment with cool border stories!
Sunday, october 16th, after saying goodbye to everyone and everything in Canada and all that hard stuff, I flew from the Halifax Airport to London's Gatwick South airport. The flight left at 1am, monday morning. Oddly enough, James and Jennifer were returning from Toronto at 12:30am the same night! So I saw them in the airport briefly to say our goodbyes before I crossed the pond. Strange. The plan was to sleep during the flight, but alas that was not to be. I sat next to a chatty British lad, Martin (Mar-tin), who was visiting a friend of his in Halifax. He works in a hotel in London, I never saw him again. But that reminds me of a small tangential story; in the airport I sat next to a charming couple from Wales who were talking of their stay in Nova Scotia, and telling me what I should see in the old country. And a phrase kept coming up that I didn't bother to ask for an explanation, they said that things were "very deary" in Cardiff. Odd. And the chatty British lad on the plane also said something about things being "dear" in London. This time I asked him about it, and apparently the Brits use "dear" to mean expensive. He'd never heard "deary" used but assumed it was just another of those crazy Welsh things. Okay, back to the flight. I have no idea what movie was playing, as I was trying desperately to sleep. After only two hours of neck-cramping airplane sleep the stewardess woke me up to serve me breakfast. Let me repeat that, the stewardess WOKE ME UP to give me breakfast. Isn't that, like, lesson one in the service industry? "Don't wake up the patron at 4am to feed him airplane food, unless it comes with a blow job." Okay, except for the last part. Wow, that was rude. And straight after a breakfast of tofu and some unidentifiable, vegetable-tasting goo, they gave me some strong coffee. This made sure that I stayed awake for the remaining three hours of the flight. Now, some might ask, "Why the hell did you drink coffee if you wanted to get back to sleep?" Well, I was afraid of an alien bursting from my stomach after gestating in the vegetable goo, and I wanted to be awake for that! No, um, there's really no good explanation. It was coffee, it was offered, I almost always accept offered coffee. This is a bad habit, and one that gets worse once I start staying with my father. More on that in a bit.
Arrive in London unscathed at 10:30am. Wait at the wrong luggage deployment conveyer belt thing for over half an hour, watching as dozens of other people collect bags that obviously belong to them. Another guy from the flight is standing nearby (I recognized him from when I walked past his seat in first class because he was wearing these funky anime boots), also with a face barely concealing panic. After asking someone at the desk for another airline than we flew who was not helpful at all, we asked a security guard and figured things out. Gatwick was under construction, which blocked out view of where we were supposed to be. After retrieving out luggage we part ways feeling a little silly, me less so on account of the boots, I'm sure.
Clearing customs was interesting because I couldn't answer any of their questions. Travelling without an agenda, this is going to be a common problem. Suggestions are welcome. Comment theme! If anyone has any interesting or funny border guard stories they feel like sharing, please post!
"How long are you staying in the UK?"
"Overnight, I catch a flight to Oslo tomorrow."
"Where do you leave from?"
"Uh...." Rummage, rummage, rummage. "Here's my ticket."
"Okay, where are you staying tonight?"
"I don't know, I guess I'll book a hostel room or something."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I don't know... Use a phone book...?"
Icy stare. I guess they don't like sarcasm.
Gulp.
And then he surprised me with the helpful suggestion of going to this booth on the other side of the airport specializing in hotel bookings. I hate border guards. They have all the power, and no sense of humor. Anyway, I followed his advice and book a room in a relatively cheap place, not that I knew how much money I was spending. I just gave the lady my credit card. Which reminds me, that stopped working in Oslo. I think I have to call the bank soon.
Dragging my two heavy bags around Gatwick airport was pretty tiring. I was in need of a coffee and a biscuit at this point, so I sat in a little cafe thing in the airport and ordered a cappuccino and some focaccia sandwich thing that probably cost as much as my hotel room. I need to learn to stop buying stuff in airports. At the table I sat, a really unfriendly British woman joined me. She sort of glared at me and my two suitcases on a cart, then silently ate and SMS'ed people on her cell phone. I like cell phones less and less the more I see people use them.
After coffee I take the tube to the hotel area and start walking, dragging two suitcases on wheels awkwardly behind me. Every few steps I would lodge my foot between suitcase and pavement and either I would stumble, or the suitcase would turn around and start dragging, requiring me to stop and compose myself for the next few steps. I was sweaty and gross. I must have looked quite a mess. I also started by going to wrong way, and having to turn around once I got my bearings. There were two identical parks on either end of the street I was on. Once I started stumbling in the correct direction a woman from behind asked if I needed any assistance. After refusing her help, she walked by, and I immediately regretted it. Some assistance would be nice. Then she turned around and asked if I was sure. She seemed nice, not like someone who would run off with my shit, so I accepted her help. It turned out great! Not only did she get me to my hotel, but she helped me up the three flights of stairs and then invited me out to dinner. Her name is Chen, and she's a life saver. Of course I showered first, and MAN did that feel good. Cleanliness is godliness. Afterwards, Chen showed me around China-town, we ate some delicious boiled eel with rice dish, and we drank a pint at an English pub. I felt so international at that point, like my trip had really begun.
Oh yes, the bags! The other half of this story so far is that my luggage was WAY overweight in the Halifax airport. Zoom lets you have 20kg underneath, and for some strange reason I packed over 40kg. Those that have helped me move know this story. I ended up having to pay an extra $110CAN for the bags to London. I checked my tickets and the next flight only allowed 15kg, and the price per kg overweight was about double, so I decided to mail my bags from London to Dad's place in Fauske. What a hassle that turned out to be! In the hotel I repacked my two suitcases such that all the heavy stuff was in one, and I would bring light stuff with me on the plane. I was really tired when i did this and apparently socks and underwear weigh more than shoes. It was a lot of head-smacking when I unpacked in Fauske later. Anyway, the eventual mailing of the bag was easy, once I decided on a postal service. The UK postal service is great, by the way. The tracking information is terribly accurate. They know what they're doing with mail here, at least.
Back to the hotel. Automated wake-up for 8am. Luckily I also set a travel clock because the phone ring wouldn't have woke me up. Stupid hotel phone. 5 hours sleep, nice. Run to the post office, mail bag, run back to hotel, pick up things and check out, run to train, grab a banana and an apple at a fruit stand on the way, 2 hours on a train, an old lady I talk to from Scotland uses "dear" to mean expensive, Stansted airport, 3 hour wait, 3 hour flight to Oslo, well south of Oslo. Ryan Air, the most inexpensive airline ever. That flight cost me $30CAN!!!! Although they only land in small airstrips that aren't convenient to get to, you actually have to walk outside to get to the plane on the tarmac. Deplaning south of Oslo was the first time I could see my breath. "Well, I'm in Norway now." Met Pedro on the tarmac, very funny guy. 2 hour bus ride with him after clearing customs. Customs was exciting, sort of. The guy asking the questions actually had a sense of humor! I thought they weren't allowed to have a sense of humor. I'm definitely in Norway now...
"Hviden har du det?"
"Um, I don't speak Norwegian, sorry."
"Oh, okay. How long are you planning to stay in Norway?"
"Perhaps four months?"
"Uh oh."
"Wha-what?"
"Well, I have to kick you out now..."
"Wha-what?"
Laughs. "You're only allowed to stay here three months out of six. Or they won't let you back into the Scandinavian countries for two years."
He thought he was pretty funny. I nearly wet myself.
2 hour bus ride to Oslo with Pedro! He's an extremely joyous person from Barcelona. We talked and laughed our way to Oslo. He's on his way to a Liza Minelli concert the next day. The man has an obsession. Apparently he also has a meeting with her, or her people, or something to try and get her to play in Barcelona. Also, he's going to NYC later to see her 60th birthday concert. Apparently the man follows her all over the world. He told me this story of how he was with some friends in South Africa, they were doing some shooting, and he ended up with a bullet in his bag. This was later found by a customs agent, and he was questioned pretty thoroughly. Somehow that evolved into us joking about him shooting Liza Minelli. A very strange man with a very strange sense of humor. I liked him immediately. "I'm going to SHOOT LIZA MINELLI!" We parted ways in the bus station, me for yet another bus, he for beers with friends at a birthday party. Cheers Pedro. May we meet in Barcelona. ... To shoot Liza Minelli!
Much waiting in the airport. Having not yet learned my airport food lesson, I ate a 280 kroner hamburger and fries. I think that was expensive, but DAMN it was yummy. 1.5 hour flight to Bodø, Dad meets me at the airport. Strange moment as I recognized him 5 seconds before he knew who I was. Big hug. Hour car drive to his and Grethe's home. We drank gas station coffee. When we got there no one was awake. He showed me around and I went to bed. Ah, sleep in a bed. Even a too-short bed with a too-small blanket.
Okay, that was far too detailed, me thinks. It was an eventful and traumatic trip though. Don't forget, comment with cool border stories!
posted by Shaun at
4:23 p.m.
3 Comments:
Actually that was a perfect post... not too long at all, but you need pics to accompany your posts! Especially of ineresting people!
*sighs*
Now on to your next post ;)
Customs were generally a breeze for me. In Izmir, TR, the border agent looked at my passport, said, "You are beautiful - have a nice trip", returned my passport to me and sent me on my way. Bizarre. When I arrived back in Canada (St. John's), I had been travelling for 24 hours and needed to know if I could bring sand back into the country. I stood in the wrong line, half-awake, for 30 minutes. A kind attendent directed me to the proper line, then feeling especially sorry for me, took my forms and did everything for me. The fun part though, was when they asked to see the sand, and I couldn't show it to them because it was still in London - Go Air Canada! Turns out the sand was fine, but then I stood in the wrong line to report my luggage missing... it was a long two hours...
You are funny when you write.. :)
Britspeak.. It's not SMS, it's "text"!
Post a Comment
<< Home